


The Madness Within

by strawberriez8800



Series: What We Do [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriez8800/pseuds/strawberriez8800
Summary: This ‘begrudging allies’ business was, honestly, a piss-poor substitute for what they actually wanted—or specifically, whatAlfiewanted, though by virtue of Tommy Shelby coming to Margate like it was his personal fucking haven as much as it was Alfie’s, he would guess it was what Tommy wanted, too.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: What We Do [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704691
Comments: 20
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just caught up with Season 5 and I can't get enough of them. They are delightful.
> 
> This is Part One of Two; the second part will be posted within the next few days.

It wasn’t long before Alfie heard the news of the utter fucking debacle that Tommy’s plan had turned out to be. He knew then, with no modicum of doubt, his decision to retire was, to this day, the smartest one he had made.

The thing with Tommy was he _cared_ too much, and as much as Alfie _didn’t_ —not about these feuds Tommy seemed hellbent on throwing himself into—in the end, he did still care about Thomas fucking Shelby—however much or little—as a begrudging ally, or friend, or whatever the fuck they were to one another now in this godforsaken world.

For better or worse, Alfie wasn’t so past the point of delusion to believe it had entirely been about the money, though he did need something, right, some sort of _reason_ that teetered just within the realm of sheer fucking plausibility, for him to disturb his nest of retirement simply to assist Tommy on another one of his crusades borne from the madness and ambition and _caring-too-fucking-much_ in that Shelby head of his.

* * *

Four days had passed before Tommy showed up at Margate, looking all sorts of fucked up behind those solemn blue eyes, yet all at once he managed—and Alfie didn’t quite know how, except to be born pretty and have a pretty wardrobe, really—to appear thoroughly pleasant and pristine and fuck if Tommy wasn’t the vainest gangster all the way from God’s green earth to the fucking stratosphere then Alfie wasn’t sure what the hell he knew.

“Good morning, Alfie.”

“It’s not.”

And that was all they said on matters pertaining to a smug fascist bastard by the name of Oswald fucking Mosley.

That morning, in Alfie’s living room amidst the salt-streaked Margate breeze carried through the balcony, they talked—or more correctly, Alfie talked and Tommy smoked cigarettes one after another as he listened; Alfie couldn’t say for certain that Tommy _was_ listening, though with the way those sharp eyes honed in on Alfie, it was difficult to think he wasn’t.

Nonetheless, Alfie talked, because if there was one thing he had acquired from the exceedingly colourful past life of his, it would be stories so fanciful yet irrefutably concrete it would be a crying shame if Tommy had been denied such accounts.

The single illustrative proof that Tommy was, in fact, listening was the occasional upward quirk of his mouth—slight, yet indisputable—and sometimes, it would be followed by a wry comment that stroked Alfie’s ego—which was certainly unintentional, Alfie knew, though it fueled his glee, all the same; perhaps it was this pride that invited it as a challenge to achieve this very thing, again and again, as though it was some sort of perverse badge of honour that Alfie fucking Solomons, against all odds, could make Thomas Shelby smile—and _that_ , Alfie knew, was not at all insignificant.

* * *

“Get me back my dog,” Alfie said one afternoon, when Tommy had once again let himself into his abode, basked in the sunlight on Alfie’s balcony.

“What happened to letting him think you’re dead?”

“I woke up one morning, right, and there wasn’t a revelation or anything, more so a gradual acceptance of the fact, that whilst I am living the dream, it is not at all complete without Cyril, you know, man’s best friend and all that,” Alfie said, watching Tommy watch him with those opaque eyes of his, wondering what the fuck was beneath them, what he was thinking. “So tell me, Tom, can you get Cyril here or not, eh?”

“Sure.” Tommy took a puff of his cigarette. “I’ll get the dog here.”

“Tomorrow, all right?”

Tommy glanced at him. “Unlike you, Alfie, I have other things to do.”

“Really, now? Because from where I’m standing, right, with you here every other morning or afternoon, it’s frankly difficult to fathom that you do, mate.”

“You want me gone then, is that it?”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, Thomas,” Alfie said, waving a hand. “I’m simply laying out the situation before you, yeah, one you seem intent on ignoring. You’re always welcome here, that should go without saying, eh?”

Tommy simply stared at him, stubbed out his spent cigarette, and lit a fresh one.

* * *

When Tommy arrived with Cyril a few days later, Alfie was just done shooting at a seagull. It had been perched on his balcony, thus there was no feasible reason for him to wait until it took a shit on his property before he did anything about it, was there?

Upon recognising Alfie, the dog all but sprinted from Tommy’s side and pounced on Alfie. “Good boy.” He brought his hand behind Cyril’s ear, scratching lightly, letting the dog kiss him until his beard was half-soaked with canine spittle. He glanced at Tommy, who was watching them with a reserved smile. “Thanks mate,” said Alfie, to which Tommy responded with a shrug.

After Cyril had calmed down and Alfie had cleaned his face, he said to Tommy, “Now I don’t have to waste precious bullets on chasing away seagulls, eh. Cyril here will have the honour.”

“What else do you have to spend your bullets on these days, Alfie, if not ships and seagulls?”

“That, my friend, is but the simplest truth, and my life is made all the better for it.” Alfie fell back onto his armchair languidly. “You should take note, mate.”

They had been down this road not too long ago, but it had been a different time; now, Tommy had indeed found a man he couldn’t defeat and where did that leave him?

Tommy stood in front of the balcony, back towards Alfie as he said, “I’m beginning to see that I should.”

Despite himself, Alfie certainly hadn’t been expecting a response of this particular nature. “Oh?”

For a short while, there was nothing but silence as Alfie waited for an answer that he could only hope Tommy intended on providing; half the time on occasions like such, Tommy would indulge his curiosity, and now Alfie could only toss a coin on whether he would, this afternoon.

“I see Grace, sometimes,” Tommy said quietly.

It took Alfie a moment to place the name. “Huh.” Try as he might, he couldn’t quite see the connection between their topic of conversation and Tommy’s late wife, yet he willed himself to remain quiet, for a display of what Tommy might perceive as insolence, at this moment, could very well undo the progress they’d made on this front, on _talking_.

“The work is done, she tells me,” Tommy continued, gaze fixed on the ocean’s horizon. “That I can finally rest, and you know what, Alfie?” Tommy turned to him, blue eyes a little wide, a little frantic and it alarmed Alfie, somewhat, enough for him to sit up straighter in his chair. “I’m fucking _tempted_ to just...walk away.”

The things Tommy was saying danced perilously close to the precipice, so much so that it was a fucking miracle he hadn’t lost his footing, once and for all. “Thomas,” he said, and that was all, before he pulled Tommy into a tight hug.

It was the first time Alfie had lay his hands on him, yet the sensation was all but shockingly familiar as though he’d performed this very act of marvel for a thousand times and more, and perhaps Tommy did agree with this sentiment, even if he was ever wordless in his admission, when he stiffened for an instant, before ultimately relaxing beneath Alfie’s touch and put his arms around him.

They remained so for a while, listening to each other’s breathing as they lingered in the embrace, and in the distant corner of Alfie’s mind, he noted, with dull amusement, it was happening on his fucking balcony of all places.

When it was over—however long after Alfie didn’t know, though it did feel to him to have ended far too soon—Tommy nodded in the direction of the approaching sunset and said, “You mind if I stay the night? Put your guest room to use, for once.”

Although Alfie didn’t admit it aloud, he was more than happy to oblige.


	2. Chapter 2

It was well past midnight and typically, at this hour, Alfie would have ventured so far into the depths of slumber he would only be awakened by a calamity of epic proportions.

Yet tonight was far from typical; it stood to reason he would not, on this night, be granted even the tiniest sliver of rest, for Tommy’s presence in his guest room existed not unlike a pinprick of awareness along his skin, growing and growing until the entirety of his mind was occupied by Thomas Shelby.

Fucking ridiculous.

It was with this frustration and a wayward curiosity that Alfie journeyed from his bed towards the guest room. Whilst the aim of this expedition was unknown even to himself, he formulated a plan—a bloody vague plan, though one all the same—which involved him stopping in front of the guest room and, having seen the lights were out with Tommy supposedly asleep, Alfie would turn back and return to his room.

Yes, that was the plan, though if the lights were still on...

Who the fuck in their right mind would still be up at this ungodly time?

Then again, everyone from Birmingham to London knew Thomas was not in his right mind.

In the wake of Alfie’s impatient knocking, Tommy opened the door. The feeble glow from the night lamp within the room cast shadows both soft and sharp across Tommy’s face, all angles and straight lines until the spot where the light landed on his mouth, then it was a gentle curve here, another one there, and _fucking hell_ Alfie was afflicted with an abrupt urge to brush a finger across those lips just to see how they would feel beneath his touch.

He realised Tommy was waiting for him to say _something_. “The fuck are you still doing up, mate?” Alfie managed to ask.

With a subtle raise of his eyebrows in what was likely absolute fucking bewilderment at Alfie’s unannounced visit, Tommy said, “I don’t sleep.”

“Don’t, or you can’t?”

“Does it fucking matter?”

“You see, there’s quite a distinction between the two. The former suggests one has the supernatural ability to forego what is a very basic human need—in which case, _do_ enlighten me—and the latter, yeah, the latter means you’re a little bit fucked, doesn’t it? Because I’ve got a feeling this is an ongoing condition, Tom.”

Tommy let out a sigh, which was a little too heavy for Alfie’s liking. “What are you doing here, Alfie?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“Fuck if I know.”

Alfie turned around and left.

* * *

It was three days after Tommy had spent the night under Alfie’s roof.

Amidst shooting at ships, walking Cyril and lounging by the beach, without fail Alfie’s mind wandered to a certain Shelby in every spare moment, and each time, the thought of Tommy felt to him like a relentless phantom itch. Alfie discovered then, the one downside of retirement was he absolutely had too much time to think.

In the end, by courtesy of his prodigious wisdom and pure fucking honesty—because he had simply ascended above something so feeble as self-denial—Alfie had arrived at the following conclusion: this ‘begrudging allies’ business was a piss-poor substitute for what they actually wanted—or specifically, what _Alfie_ wanted, though by virtue of Tommy coming to Margate like it was his personal fucking haven as much as it was Alfie’s, he would guess it was what Tommy wanted, too.

Be that as it may, _guessing_ was not enough in matters where Thomas Shelby was concerned and, frankly, Alfie had no patience for anything so nonsensical as uncertainty.

For this reason, Alfie made it his singular purpose to seek an answer from none other than Tommy himself.

But first, to scratch that itch.

In his bed, Alfie shut his eyes; amongst the absence of light, the image of Tommy came easily to his mind’s eye as he brought his hand to his cock. Never had he been so appreciative of his imagination until the moment he pictured Tommy’s wet red lips, wrapped around his cock as though they were made for such worship. He fucked Tommy’s mouth without a shred of refrain nor hesitation and, God, those blue, blue eyes were ever glazed with unadulterated _want_ as Tommy took him deep into his throat—

Good fucking _Lord._

* * *

When Alfie walked into his living room, Tommy was sitting in Alfie’s chair with a gun in hand, aiming at a sun-bathing seagull on the balcony.

“You know, Tom, I vividly recall some cunt telling me he had no interest in shooting seagulls.”

The sound of a gunshot cracked through the air and the bird took off in a whirl.

Setting the gun down, Tommy turned to Alfie. “It’s not as satisfying as shooting cabinet ministers would be, but it’ll do.”

“Glad to have your approval, mate.”

The corners of Tommy’s mouth curled into a smile only half so reticent as the one Alfie was accustomed to seeing, and this thing—elementary as it was—sparked an absurd delight within him.

“Come walk with me, Tommy.” Alfie secured a lead on Cyril’s collar. “Get a taste of the afterlife, why don’t you? See, Cyril here agrees, all right, wise canine that he is,” he said as the dog sprinted for the door in anticipation.

“You enjoy long walks on the beach, Alfie?” The amusement in Tommy’s voice was subtle, yet terrifically distinct to Alfie’s ears.

“You fucking bet I do.”

Walked along the beach they did; Alfie had let Cyril off the leash somewhere along the way. The sun hung low in the horizon, and the only sounds around them were the gentle breaking of the waves along with Cyril’s splashes amongst the water.

They stood a distance apart, watching the sun’s descent.

“What do you want, Tom?” Alfie found himself asking.

Tommy lit a cigarette and pocketed his lighter. “What do you mean ‘what do I want’?” He didn’t look at Alfie as he said it, simply kept his gaze past the ocean.

“It’s not a bloody trick question, mate.”

Exhaling smoke into the air, Tommy said, “I don’t know.”

Alfie lowered himself onto the sand. “Well, it’s a damned lucky thing you have all the time in the world to figure that out, eh? Retirement gives you that, it does.” He sat back, the heel of his palm against the sand.

Tommy remained standing as he watched Alfie.

“For crying out loud, don’t be so prim, Thomas.” Alfie patted the space beside him. “Sit.”

He did.

Grinning, Alfie slapped Tommy on the back. “Fucking live a little, mate.”

Tommy cast him a smile so slight Alfie almost missed it. “Fine, have it your way.”

“Good,” he said, “because, as a god, it is only logical I know best.”

“Fuck off, Alfie."

* * *

That night, Tommy stayed at Alfie’s guest room once again.

There was something ever fundamentally wrong about that, having Tommy in the guest room rather than Alfie’s own. So fucking _wrong._ Alfie wouldn’t stand for it—didn’t bloody want to.

This time, though, in what perhaps was the most unlikely scenario in Alfie’s myriads of imaginings, Tommy was the one knocking on his door.

“Tom?”

Leaning against the door frame, Tommy asked, “Why were you at my room the other night, Alfie?”

He squinted at Tommy. “You came here, in the wee fucking hours, to ask me that?”

“Yes,” Tommy said, “and you’re going to answer me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No, what the fuck is wrong with _you_?” Tommy pointed at Alfie, the tip of his finger against his chest. “Pulling all sorts of bullshit, saying I’m _welcome_ here at any time, knocking on my door at fucking three in the morning, asking me what I want as if you _care_ , and just—fuck.”

Alfie stared at his uncharacteristic outburst. “You done yet?”

“No.”

There was no telling what happened first. Tommy stepped into his room. The door shut behind them. Alfie’s mouth was on Tommy’s and Tommy was pressed up against the wall, then all at once their hands were all over one another, grasping for purchase as they staggered along the precipice of madness yet letting themselves _fall_ anyway—

Not much was said after that. Alfie dragged his mouth sloppily along the line of Tommy’s throat and lingered above his pulse point. He sucked against the skin, feeling Tommy draw in a sharp breath. Tommy’s hands tugged at Alfie’s shirt, a silent behest, and Alfie withdrew for a moment to pull the shirt over his head and toss it aside.

Before long, their mouths found each other again. “Bed,” Alfie whispered between kisses against Tommy’s parted lips. Soon enough, Tommy was laying on the bed, fingers amidst Alfie’s hair as Alfie kissed a path up his stomach. Tommy’s cock throbbed against Alfie’s hand when he skirted his palm over it. There was something not at all complete about this picture, so Alfie gestured to Tommy’s pants. “This. Off.”

“You don’t want much, do you?”

“Are you always this smug in bed, mate?”

Smirking, Tommy slipped out of his pants, aided by a swift tug from Alfie and now, like a gift from God himself, Thomas fucking Shelby lay naked in Alfie’s bed and the sight exceeded his expectations in every possible way.

Alfie ran his hand along Tommy’s hip, mouth against the lobe of his ear as he whispered, “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

“Pompous bastard.” He caught Tommy in another haphazard kiss, his hand brushing over Tommy’s cock. It twitched in anticipation and it was all Alfie could do to not to take him right there. “I want to feel you in my mouth.” He pulled away to look at Tommy. “Is that all right?”

“I didn’t expect you to be a gentleman in bed of all places, Alfie.”

It was as good an invitation as any, thus Alfie lowered himself until his breath ghosted along the tip of Tommy’s cock. Eyes on Tommy on the while, Alfie took him into his mouth and _Christ_ the abrupt gasp from Tommy at the wetness and warmth of Alfie’s mouth already made this all the more worth it.

He pressed his tongue against the slit of Tommy’s cock. It leaked against his tongue, pleading, so Alfie took him as deeply as he could. It wasn’t as much as he once had been capable of, for it _had_ been a while since he had performed such an act. Tommy’s hips buckled. The tip of his cock met the back of Alfie’s throat and Alfie withdrew for a moment.

“Sorry,” Tommy muttered.

“Don’t be,” Alfie said, and took him in again. As he sucked Tommy to completion, the culmination of Tommy’s desire coloured his expression with such profanity, like a portrait painted by the hand of an artist skilled in all matters sacrilegious and it was the most whimsical thing Alfie had ever witnessed.

Tommy came in violent spurts into his mouth, of which Alfie took all too willingly. Having swallowed his come, Alfie brought himself back up to Tommy and kissed him.

When Alfie pulled away, Tommy said with a lazy smile, “There’s something a bit fucked about tasting myself on you, and finding that I enjoy it.” He brushed his mouth against Alfie’s once more, and proceeded to reciprocate.

“Wait,” Alfie said. “I want to look at you. Use your hand, yeah.”

“Looks like you’re a romantic at heart, Alfie. Who knew?”

“Fuck off,” Alfie said, “not really.”

A curt noise sounded in Tommy’s throat and it was the closest semblance to a laugh Alfie had heard from him. “Lay down,” Tommy said, to which Alfie obliged without a word.

As Tommy stroked his cock, he kept his gaze on Alfie, sharp and blue and vigilant, until Alfie’s breaths came in shorter, quicker bursts. Tommy continued to study him with an elevated, yet subdued delight and Alfie shut his eyes, his heart beating faster and faster until he released into Tommy’s palm, forehead pressed against Tommy’s shoulder.

A thick fog of blankness and euphoria settled into his mind as he lay on his back, spent in all the best ways. A moment passed before he retrieved a towel beside the bed. “Here,” he tossed it to Tommy, who used it to wipe away his ejaculate.

When all was said and done and they were laying in bed next to each other, Alfie said into the darkness, “What a night.”

“Agreed,” said Thomas beside him.

* * *

The next morning, Alfie awoke to an empty bed.

Having resigned to the reality that Tommy had left, he let himself doze a few minutes longer, before rising for the day.

The night before felt to him like nothing but a dream that had long faded into dust; judging by the utter lack of Tommy’s presence in his room, Alfie wouldn’t be too surprised to find it had, indeed, been one, unfortunate as that would be.

When he entered his living room and saw Tommy in his chair on the balcony, however, he knew there was nothing more real than what lay before him.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Good morning, Alfie.”

He joined Tommy at his side, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “Yeah.” He cast a sidelong glance at Tommy, who looked ever immaculate even in his previous day’s clothing. There was nothing else that hinted at what had come to pass between them, except for the smallest upward quirk of his lips.

They lingered in the lull of daybreak, until Tommy said, “I’ve been thinking, Alfie, I’ve got no Margate of my own.”

“I’m quite aware, yeah.”

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind sharing. From time to time.”

The implication of Tommy’s response didn’t sink in immediately, though when it did, it took Alfie a moment to get the words out as smoothly as he could. “Well, in that case, you and I both know I am nothing if not a benevolent god, Tommy.”

In what was undeniably Alfie’s closest brush with a happy story, Tommy smiled ever so little.

He didn't say much after that; then again, he didn't need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There goes my first Tommy/Alfie fic! That was fun :) I hope you guys liked it!! Please feel free to leave a comment if you have any thoughts. Have a great day <3
> 
> P.S. This is the first entry to my series of Tommy/Alfie stories, where they will be loosely connected and focused on their developing relationship.


End file.
